American Idol was the reality talent show that defined the 2000s in America. It was the mega-hit from which sprung America’s Next Top Model, Project Runway, Top Chef, RuPaul’s Drag Race, and, yes, The Voice, the NBC singing competition that essentially took over for American Idol in terms of viewers, if not in terms of producing professional music success. (To be fair, American Idol also stopped doing this after Phillip Phillips was crowned and went on to his successful career writing montage songs for the Olympics.) Attention must be paid and respect given to American Idol as a cultural phenomenon and influencer. But when it aired its series finale in early 2016, it felt like the appropriate end of an era. The personalities that had defined the show — judges Simon Cowell, Paula Abdul, and Randy Jackson; star contestants like Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson, and Jennifer Hudson; even legendary failures we couldn’t get rid of like Sanjaya and Carmen Rasmusen — had long since faded away. The only truly memorable moment of the show’s swan-song 15th season was when Kelly Clarkson showed up, pregnant, and proceeded to make every single judge and audience member cry with an emotionally intense “Piece By Piece.”

Now, a mere two years after American Idol went away, it returned last night, having hopped networks from FOX to ABC, with a fully revamped judging panel, and even minus that familiar “BA-now-ba-now-ba-now” theme music. All that remains are Ryan Seacrest — whose presence is surprisingly tamped down in this premiere, and good thing too, considering how little anybody wants to do with him after sexual harassment allegations — and that familiar electric blue logo on the backdrop. Apparently that’s all the continuity the show needs. But after the season premiere and wading back into the waters of American Idol, the first question that comes to mind is why? Why is American Idol back?

There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of urgency to Idol‘s return. It hasn’t been gone long enough for us to truly miss it. Where it once represented a workaround for talented singer to bypass the music-industry machinery and get famous quickly, now kids have YouTube and Instagram and any number of outlets where they can bypass the industry fully on their own. So if this doesn’t exist to be a singing competition foremost, it should at least be a fun reality show in the bargain.

Initially, you’d have expected a revamp that is slightly more indebted to The Voice — and, strangely, So You Think You Can Dance, which is funny because that show was essentially created from a rib plucked from American Idol‘s side — and I suppose the judging panel gets at those Voice comparisons a little bit. The combination of Katy Perry, Luke Bryan, and Lionel Richie represent the world of Pop, Country, and R&B in a very Voice-like spread. The temptation is to point out that the bite of the classic Idol judging panel is gone; that without Simon Cowell behind the table, mercilessly crushing the dreams of the only-moderately talented and making the kinds of callous image critiques that only someone who’s made millions by marketing handsome boy bands and glam pop divas can make. But the truth is that Idol had long since lost that bite by the time it ended. Cowell’s final season with the show was season 9 (2010). By the time the show ended, they’d cycled through any number of celebrity judges, from the infamous Mariah/Nicki Minaj season to the relatively stable panel of Jennifer Lopez, Keith Urban, and Harry Connick Jr. that presided over the final three seasons.

As a panel, Perry, Bryan, and Richie aren’t bad. Richie and Bryan are more than willing to allow Perry to be the star, and Perry seems happy to oblige, as she accepts all the gasps and attempted flattery that come her way from a bunch of the contestants. She’s not exactly a pushover as a judge, but she’s no hardass either. Bryan is handsome and happy to go along with the flow, but it’s hard to say he’s made an impression so far. Lionel Richie shows some promise as an enthusiastic old pro. He’s no Paula Abdul, but at age 68, he does have a touch of the granddad to him, and the old Commodores war stories sound funnier the less they pertain to the contestant at hand.

No one expected American Idol to return like a mean old lion. In 2018, niceness rules, especially in competitive reality, and supportive, collaborative judges are the new world order. But still, it’s frustrating to watch the judges softball some of these contestants. At one point, a borderline singer and Congolese immigrant was rejected by a 2-1 judges’ vote, and Perry’s words felt refreshingly honest: “The worst thing you could do is put someone out there who’s not ready yet, and then you’ve blown your shot.” Yes! You don’t have to be gratuitously mean like Simon was to bring the honesty. Then, of course, after the commercial break, Richie has a change of his soft heart, calls the guy back in, and changes his vote to yes. You guys! You were so close!

It’s that kind of wishy-washiness that feels familiar from where we left off with Idol. As do the plethora of soft-focus produced segments designed to let the audience meet the contestants and find a human-interest hook to hold onto. Some of the more notable contestants and moments over the course of the premiere:

Theater-kid Kobe has played Ulla in The Producers on stage, and everything about her is too much, and she’s way too aggressive with Katy Perry (“we’re both Double Scorpios”), and when she’s unceremoniously dumped and the show snidely plays “Don’t Rain on My Parade” over her exit, it’s a nostalgic reminder of how much Simon Cowell/this show has always despised theater singing. Kobe also revives the proud Idol tradition of the delusional, angry rejected contestant who yells at a poor cameraman in the hallway.

It’s kind of rude for the show to bring up the viral-video infamy of 16-year-old Harper Grace, who at age 11 sang the National Anthem poorly at a baseball game and got roasted online for singing in a style that, not to put too fine a point on it, American Idol popularized (and pretty much ruined the culture in the process).

We get the requisite toothless little girl singing LeAnn Rimes in a voice well beyond her years.

We get the requisite angel-faced, precocious boy with a guitar who has never kissed a girl (he says) and is very excited when Katy sneaks a smooch on him, because what heterosexual boy wouldn’t flip out so innocently for Katy Perry. This was how we used to have to experience gayness on TV back in 2006! It’s wild that it’s still happening now. “Kiss a couple more girls,” is Katy’s parting advice to the lad. Perhaps Kacey Musgraves would’ve been a little more helpful.

“He’s my ride-or-die … and literally my ride,” says 16-year-old Alyssa, about her close relationship with her dad. She’s very likeable, Disney-obsessed (gotta rep for the new network’s home team!), and in possession of a great voice. She’ll probably contend.

Katy Perry bonds with Noah Davis over their shared stan-culture nomenclature (“Wig”! he gasps, pantomiming having his edges fully snatched by the moment; Katy concurs; Luke and Lionel puzzle heterosexually), and then Lionel Richie is so impressed by the lad’s singing that he promises him an alpaca. You had to be there. (But honestly, Lionel taking 30 seconds to relate the story of the time an alpaca aggressed him is why I have hopes that he’s our Paula.)

Luke Bryan, while complimenting the night’s final singer (a handsome, saved-by-music young man with a hole in his guitar named Dennis) unleashes this ratatouille of nouns and adjectives: “Just this feeling … your journey, and what this show is about. American dreams.” Indeed.

This rebooted American Idol is really not breaking any new ground, and it doesn’t make a super great case for why it needed to come back from the dead. But there is undeniably a comfort to settling into the old American Idol rhythms, playing armchair judge with your friends, taking bets on which new contestants will fall out seeing Katy Perry.